Like Real People Do [🗸]

13. comp-sci

Esther wasn't lying about the hell the next few weeks of material would be in Computer Science. 

As of a few weeks after her frantic pouring over of the textbooks, I'm drowning in it. If the beginning of the course was horrific, the current material is infinitely more terrible. 

A voice in the deep crevices of my mind yells that I ought to have read ahead when Esther had started to, but a far louder voice cries out that it's too late now, anyway.

As I twirl a pencil between my index and pointer finger, I decide that the professor might as well be speaking gibberish. I understand exactly jackshit of what he's saying. And it'd be funny, if the walls didn't seem to be swallowing me up. 

Imposter Syndrome is coming for my ass, and it weighs down on me from and to Computer Science. I bury myself in the work, in the coding, in the note-taking, and eventually in the reading-ahead. 

I've reverted back to slightly-fucked sleeping patterns, largely due to the fact that I've been pouring over textbooks or my laptop at deep hours into the night. It's so easy to forget - what with the bonfires, parties, late-night drinks and movie nights that college is not solely that.

College is this aspect of everything as well, arguably a hell of a lot less favorable. I can't fail this course. The mantra has been playing over in my head over and over again. I texted Rayne halfway through last week that I needed to cut down my hours. 

They let me, pausing on the other side of the phone before reminding me that I need to take a breather sometimes. And a breather is all nice and well, but when a minimum average is necessary to maintain a spot here and Computer Science has become excessively difficult - a breather falls to the background as everything else takes the forefront. 

My schedule's shifted over to studying until three and waking up at seven. It's not something I shout from the rooftops, and it's certainly not something I've told Esther whose eyes lit up the day I told her I'd started getting more than seven hours of sleep with the help of sleeping pills. 

Albeit, I doubt Esther needs me to tell her either way. The ever-present dark bags beneath my eyes have returned, and it's unmistakable. Esther's response have been attempts to take me out anywhere - a cafe, a boba place, a fast food place. 

I've trotted along after her, of course, but somehow the conversation ends up circling back to Computer Science and my laptop ends up on the table at least an hour in. To which Esther raises her eyebrows and I apologize frantically, slipping it back into my bag about 20 minutes after. 

Computer Science is the first domino, and everything appears to be tumbling down after it. My daily visits to the Performing Arts hall to visit Elliot have reduced to weekly ones, and Elliot doesn't comment on it, but he notices it. 

Elliot is an observer, so of course he sees everything. He pays attention to all the little things: the eye bags, the tone, the edge to someone's voice.